


a timeless thing;

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: "Snakes Have Physically Manifested In My Home" the fic, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Force Bond (Star Wars), Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13433712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: There wasn't an acceptable way to put it, really. “Oh, hey, Master Skywalker! How are you? I’m fine. Also, there’s a scavenger girl inside my head, and I think I might be in love with her.”---In which they come to each other in a dream, and nothing is ever the same again.[[ ON HIATUS ]]





	a timeless thing;

The Teedo population of Jakku have a name for the storms they endure: _X’us’R’iia_. Loosely translated, the term suggests divine intervention, of a goddess as cruel and unforgiving as the planet she supposedly inhabited. To the more sceptical of figures, the phrase was probably more accurately denoted as meaning “Teedos are not very smart, and for all their scavenging, none of them have ever stumbled across a holo on basic meteorology.”

Rey placed herself, quite firmly, in the latter group of opinions, but sometimes—if pressed to admit it, which she never was—she could admit seeing _some_ sense in the misguided belief. There definitely seemed to be a sort of cruel premeditation behind the situation she currently found herself in, sheltered from the latest sandstorm beneath the shattered solar array of an Imperial TIE fighter. She had taken to tearing its outer shell apart in the time she’d been stuck there, her deft fingers picking through components and wiring, although she knew the most valuable scrap was long since scavenged. The main power lines were gone and the fuel tank was ruptured, but there were still a few smaller pieces intact—tracking systems and life support, mainly, but nothing valuable. She pocketed a few of her pickings all the same; metal was metal, and scuffed clean at Niima, she was sure to get at least a quarter portion for the lot. If she even survived to see the morning.

It wasn’t a particularly bad storm, and she’d lived through far worse, but the wind howled and dragged sand, and she knew if she stepped foot beyond the cusp of the wrecked starfighter’s protection, her clothes would be torn and her bones would be stripped clean and all these years of waiting would’ve been for nothing. A distant, more cynical part of herself pointed out that nobody would notice she was gone anyway, but she ignored it in favour of the hopeful approach. Someone was coming for her, and maybe it wasn’t soon, but they'd be there.

Eventually.

~*~

“Shii-Cho,” the mechanical voice intoned, devoid of any and all emotion, “an ancient style, simplistic but fierce. There is little rigidity in the Determination Form, drawing power from strength of spirit. Opponent body target zones are as follows: head, right arm, right side, left arm, left side, back, right leg, left leg. This form focuses primarily on the technique of _Sun djem_ , or disarmament. The initiate will—”

The training droid buzzed, almost in protest, as Ben Solo reached forward and thumbed its power switch, cutting it off mid-sentence and sending it into slumber once more. “No, the initiate will not,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and uncrossing his arms, letting them hang with his fingertips trailing the floor. He was tired of the same basic techniques being drilled into him over and over, tired of being sent off on his own for some _quiet study time_ , tired of the stifling rigidity of the temple on Yavin 4. It was all the same, day in and day out, and he couldn’t help feeling that maybe he was meant for something… more. He tipped his head to one side, pursed his lips, and stood swiftly. It didn’t matter, not really. This was his life, and he was Ben Solo: son of heroes, the Jedi reborn, and Luke Skywalker’s prized pupil. No matter how much that reality made his soul ache with some confusing, inexplicable sort of longing, it was just how things were. He was just _this_ , and that was that.

                **_It doesn’t have to be that way._**

He screwed his eyes shut at the whisper, that soft little voice—clenched his fists at the discomfiting feel of too-rough hands caressing his conflicting thoughts, his deepest-buried insecurities. It’d been this way for as long as he could remember, his doubts and fears given form in his mind; some unnameable, unknowable presence always there for him, even when he’d rather it not be. _It’s normal,_ his mother had told him, _everyone gets worried sometimes. The important thing is that you overcome it. Luke can help you._ It had been years, of course, and the voice hadn’t ever gone away, but he had the focus and resolve to ignore it by now, and he figured that that was just as good. It would have to be.

“Finished your studies already?”

The voice that interrupted his thoughts was not unkind, but there was an odd lilt to it that bordered on mocking, and when Ben opened his eyes again to stare at the intruder, the expression confirmed his assessment well enough. “It was nothing I haven’t already memorised before.” He spoke calmly, but his narrowed eyes surely gave away his annoyance—his father had always said his face was like an open book, and sometimes he really resented how right that was.

“It never hurts to be sure of the basic technique. Force knows you need a refresher.” The newcomer pushed away from the doorframe, moving far enough into the light of the room that Ben could give him a good once-over. Darael Synn didn’t cut a particularly imposing figure, wrapped in his threadbare robes and bearing a scowl that made him seem as though his breakfast had gone down the wrong way, but he was at least proficient in ensuring his words cut deep. He referred, of course, to the incident that had earned Ben a reprimand in the first place—a sparring match that had gone just a little bit too far—and he could hardly say he was thankful for the reminder.

“We all lose our temper at times,” Ben stated evenly, straightening up and staring Darael in the face. He could feel the low simmer of anger building up, stinging the back of his throat, but he tamped it down. The outbursts were getting too frequent, too obvious. He wasn’t so sure why his hold on his emotions had become so tenuous as of late, but it wouldn’t do well to let that sort of weakness show. “Why are you here?”

Darael stared at him for a long moment, calculating—and Ben almost panicked, almost worried that it was too obvious, that he didn’t have as strong a grip on himself as he thought—then shrugged lazily. “Master Skywalker sent me up to relieve you of your punishment.”

“It’s not a _punishment_.”

“Of course.” Darael’s smile was tight, venomous, and he left without a further word.

~*~

Rey wasn’t entirely sure how long she had been huddled under that wreckage by the time the storm abated. She wasn’t sure, either, how conscious she’d been for that length of time. One moment, the winds were raging and the sands were churning and the planet itself was heaving with its own ageless torment, and the next… it was calm. Stifling in its heat, bright enough to burn her eyes even through tinted goggles, but calm. It was with shaky legs that she stood, and it took her a moment of rubbing feeling back into them before she could stumble out from underneath the shattered TIE, squinting into the distance. Off to her left, her speeder sat seemingly untouched—save for the scuff marks—but she didn’t dare heave a sigh of relief as she approached, knowing all too well the havoc a few loose grains of sand could wreak on an engine.

The frontal intakes were clogged, as were the rearmost exhaust cones, but the interior turbojets appeared largely unscathed. It was hard to tell without a more thorough inspection, but she’d have to dismantle the whole thing to get a good look, and there was no way she’d risk that out here, where another storm could hit at any time and passers-by wouldn’t hesitate to help themselves to the rarer of her components. It could’ve been worse. That was almost her mantra, out here in the Goazon Badlands. No matter what happened, whatever hardship she faced: it could’ve been worse.

She had taken care not to touch the hull of the speeder as she inspected it, mindful of the wiring she’d loosened to electrify the whole thing, as a last-ditch deterrent against potential thieves—although, it was hardly a concern when _X’us’R’iia_ passed through—but reconnecting it took mere moments. A quick tug on the side-meshing assured her that her battered haul of scavenged parts was well-secured, then she swung her leg up and over the leather seat and—

_“Makashi.”_

What? She whipped her head round, eyes scanning the TIE wreckage and the surrounding sands. “Hello?” she called, cautiously. “Anyone there?” There was no response, just the hiss of sand against metal as the wind whipped against her makeshift storm shelter. She must’ve imagined it. The heat and the horizon could play funny tricks on you, on Jakku. It was a lesson she’d learned long ago—the hard way—but even so, she had been _so sure…_ Her thumb grazed the fingerprint scanner mounted in the speeder’s handlebar even as she shrugged, and the heavy whirr of the turbojets, the deep pulse of the repulsorlifts, were enough to clear her mind. Whatever she had heard, whatever it had been, it was gone now, and she had salvage to pawn and a home to return to, and her belly ached with hunger. _Survival takes priority,_ she told herself, firmly. Even as her mind wandered, her curiosity piqued.

~*~

“Soresu, Ataru, Djem So, Niman, Juyo.”

Ben rattled off the last of the combat forms with ease, arms crossed and expression passive as he regarded his master before him. He hadn’t been lying to Darael, he really _did_ have it all memorised. Every lightsaber combat form—their names, origins, strengths and weaknesses, and it had been that way for years. Master Skywalker knew that, and nothing about the older man’s cool gaze told him otherwise. Ben was a good student, loathe as he was to admit it at times. Loathe as _anyone_ was, really. His recent trend of delinquency was something different, something he wasn’t quite sure of the source of himself. It came to him in whispers, those little doubts and fears and _wants_. It was as though he was too small for his own skin, fit to burst at the seams, emerge as something new, but…

“Ben,” the weary voice interrupted, blue eyes searching, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, master.” His reply was immediate, maybe too quick, and he felt the back of his neck prickle with a sudden anxiety. There _wasn’t_ anything wrong, not really— so why did he feel like he was lying?

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Luke began, then hesitated, amended himself: “quieter. You know I try not to worry, but you’re my nephew, so it’s practically my job. The incident earlier, with the sparring match—“

Ben swallowed thickly, dipped his head, and repeated the same words he’d been rehearsing to himself in the isolation of the study room. “A mistake. I went for an overhead strike where I should’ve attempted a disarming slash. I recognise where I went wrong, I apologise, and seek forgiveness for my failure. I pray my opponent is unharmed.”

Luke waved a hand in a gesture that would’ve almost been insultingly dismissive had Ben not caught the gentle smile playing upon his lips—or the quiet sort of sadness in his eyes. “Nevin is fine, don’t worry. Shaken, but not a mark on her. She’ll be okay.”

“I could’ve killed her!” The words were out of his mouth before they even registered, and immediately Ben regretted the outburst, clenching his fists tight at his sides. “I could’ve… I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself.”

“No, maybe not, but you wouldn’t be the first to admit it. That’s why all those sparring matches are supervised, you know that. One little mistake, one misstep and things could go terribly wrong, terribly fast.” Luke gave a shrug, and crossed his arms. “There’s no shame in feeling the pull to the dark side, Ben. No shame at all. The important thing is that you resisted it.”

**_But did you really want to?_**

“Yes, master. Of course.” Ben’s nod was tight, controlled, and he willed his hands to stop shaking.

~*~

Her hands ached from scrubbing, her eyes itched from sand and her throat was so dry it _burned_. This was life on Jakku, and it was all she’d ever known. Scavenge, scrub, starve and sleep. She was halfway through the second step of the day, and it wouldn’t be a stretch of the imagination to assume she was dreading the third. The scrap she’d pulled from the downed TIE was proving to be a little more worthless than she’d expected—components she previously assumed to be workable fell apart in her hands, rust scraping off with the scrubbing brush and wires coming loose with the gentlest of tugs. She’d get some rations for it, alright, but not much.

As if capable of reading her thoughts, a wrinkled little alien of indeterminable origin leaned over, inspected her pathetic spoils of the day and informed her, quite matter-of-factly: “You’re lucky if you get even a quarter portion for that lot.” He spoke with an accent she couldn’t recognise, but the furrows in his skin and the tears in his clothes told her he’d been here a long time. Maybe even longer than her.

“I’m hoping Plutt will go easy on me today,” she muttered, twisting a loose bolt between her fingers. Her statement was met with raucous laughter, and the wizened little humanoid shuffled off. She resisted the urge to make a face at him as he went, and focused in on her meagre scrap instead. She hadn’t _cleaned_ any of it, exactly—the damage went far too deep for that—but she’d taken the worst of the rust and the sand, wiped off the oil stains and tightened the screws. Maybe she’d done a good enough job to convince the Blobfish that the parts were worth a good meal. Two quarter portions, if she was lucky. Maybe even _three_. She was feeling optimistic.

She scraped the components into her pouch, and hopped up, clutching them protectively. The weight of her quarterstaff was a comforting one, slung across her back, but the residents of Niima gave her a wide berth as she picked her way through the dilapidated stalls, past the tethered Happabores and over to Unkar Plutt’s rusty little kiosk. The man queued in front of her was wrapped tight in leather and rags; he was young, but weathered enough that you wouldn’t think it at first. She could only catch snippets of the conversation—argument, really—and her stomach grumbled despondently as she realised, quite quickly, that the Blobfish was in a terrible mood.

“Half a portion.”

“That’s pure selenium, that is. And look, look at that, a fully intact artesiatic dampener. Not even been repaired, that. Found it in one piece, still working. It’s good stuff. Well worth a double portion, at least.”

“Half a portion.”

“I’ll throw in a plasma phase coil, how about that? You think I want to trade this stuff for veg-meat? Kriffing hyperdrive components and I’m haggling over military rations?!”

“Half,” Plutt enunciated slowly, “a portion.”

The man growled, cursed, slammed his foot into the kiosk, and left with his veg-meat clenched tight in one fist. Then it was Rey’s turn, and she didn’t dare look Plutt in the eye as she spilled her meagre offerings onto the countertop. She was one of his best scavengers, but she couldn’t be so lucky every day. Pickings were slim at the best of times—rarely was there anything new out in the desert; Jakku was hardly a destination worth travelling to, and a freshly-crashed starfighter was a rare commodity. Most scrap she gathered was picked free from the victims of some long-ago battle, when the Empire and the Rebellion raged across the skies, and for one shining moment, that little desert planet had actually meant something to the galaxy. Some days she’d return to Niima with barely anything at all, save for what she had stashed away for future emergencies. She hadn’t been forced to dip into that stock today, but she may as well have.

 “Not much to offer today, I see.” Plutt’s words weren’t cold, exactly, but there was an uncomfortable sort of sliminess to them that sent shivers down her spine. She would’ve thought she’d get used to his particular brand of disapproval over the years, but it never failed to discomfit her. He was the closest thing she had to family on Jakku, but for all her lack of knowledge on the subject… whatever a father was, he wasn’t it.

“Got caught in the storm.”

Plutt’s reply was a mere grunt, and a rustle as he reached aside to pull rations from a nearby shelf. Rey leaned up on her tiptoes, trying to see if it was Imperial or New Republic this time. She preferred the taste of the latter, but it left a stickiness in her mouth that took hours to get rid of. Before she got a chance to puzzle it out, the clear plastic packaging was slapped down in front of her, and she eyed the sickeningly green slice of polystarch with distaste. “Quarter portion.”

It was what the more realistic part of her had already anticipated, but she couldn’t help feeling a stab of disappointment as she reached for her meal. Hunger was just something you had to get used to on Jakku, dream as she might of something more. Plutt had already thrown her gathered scrap aside and was eyeing the next scavenger in line by the time her hand closed around the packet, and she tucked it in her pouch and took off without another word.

~*~

The lightsaber felt near-weightless in his palm as Ben swung and swiped, the low hum of plasma cutting through the silence as readily as the blade cut through air. _Step, step, lunge, repeat._ He’d been at it for what felt like hours, his muscles screaming out for rest and sweat beading on his brow, but he had to do this. He had to get it right. He messed up earlier, misjudged his opponent, opted for the wrong move-set, and that phenomenal screw-up could’ve cost a life. So, he was practicing, reliving the spar in his mind, matching his footwork and calculating his swings and every time—

He never messed up once, not in theory. He was in control, and aware, and there wasn’t room for error, not when he was focused like this. So, what had been different then? Why had he messed up so badly? Misjudgement in the heat of the moment wasn’t something he was used to, and yet… it hadn’t felt wrong, going for the kill. Afterwards, yes, when his mind caught up, and his breathing slowed and he no longer saw red, the shame threatened to choke him in its intensity, but with that saber in his hand and an opponent at his feet, it felt natural. It felt right.

                **_Just one swing, and you could’ve ended it all._**

He growled, lashed out, and a nearby tree bore the brunt of his anger, toppling before the bubbling incision even had a chance to cool. The plasma blade hissed as it pulled free of the bark, and he stared at it, unseeing. That could’ve been a body, it could’ve been flesh. Just a quick slice, a flick of the wrist, and it could’ve been—

_“Hey, get away from that!”_

Ben looked up, startled, already turning to locate the source of the yell. It hadn’t been a voice he’d recognised, and as his gaze swept the training fields for its owner, he came up short. There was nobody there, but whoever it was, they’d been so _close_ … He shook his head lightly. He must’ve been imagining things. It wasn’t the first time.

                **_Are you sure?_**

His grip tightened on his saber hilt, the hard ridges digging into his palm, and he lifted it again. His boots cut furrows in the trodden dirt as he rearranged his stance, sinking low, the blade pulled horizontal and its light burning into his eyes. He was going to get this right, again. Once more. _Step, lunge, swing, slash, step back, block._ He grunted as he mistimed a parry—though by all means, his failures were only imagined, as alone as he was on that battlefield—but followed it up with a downward strike, whipping the blade towards the sky, then out to the left. His next swing carried enough momentum to let him spin, and he did, the drag of the saber pulling him round and slicing through his invisible opponent, only—

Eyes. Frightened eyes, and a mouth open in shock and fear and—

It was too late the blade was already through, piercing her abdomen—

Cutting the life from her chest—

She didn’t even have time to scream, but the confusion and rage and terror tore from his throat and—

She was gone. He was alone, and the saber hilt fell from his slick palms and he barely registered the jolt as his knees hit the ground. _I might be losing my mind_ , he thought, distantly.

~*~

The wind tugged at her clothes as Rey rode across the sand flats, engines whining in protest as she piled on speed, pushing the self-assembled contraption harder and harder as the great expanse of nothingness that was Jakku slipped by on all sides. When she rode like this, with the sun searing her flesh and the sand skipping harmlessly against her goggles, across dune and flat alike, she imagined she was flying. It was a silly, childish notion, but an indulgence she had nurtured all her years. She could close her eyes and ride for miles, and maybe a little part of her would hope that eventually, if she just rode fast enough, travelled far enough, she could break away from all this. She could get away from this dusty little hellhole and rise up to meet the stars, and maybe her family would be there, somewhere, and they’d welcome her with open arms, and they’d say things like: _“Welcome back, we’ve missed you.”_

She wondered what it’d be like, to be missed.

But fantasies end, as fantasies do, and reality comes creeping back in, and for now, that was in the form of a distant shipwreck, wavering amidst the heat of the horizon. The bulk of it wasn’t anything she recognised, so it was either fresh, or recently uncovered. Either one was a goldmine of parts, but she quickly tamped down the excitement bubbling in her chest—the prospect of a proper meal was an enticing one, and it was hardly an opportunity she was willing to pass up on, so she kicked out, twisted her speeder round in a tight arc, and set course for salvation.

The closer she got to the wreckage, the more excited she felt—it was definitely a crash, alright, and it looked practically untouched. She couldn’t tell from this distance how recent it had been, but the distinct lack of smoke suggested it was one of the old Rebellion shuttles that had been swallowed by shifting sands long ago, only breaching the surface again years later. It was too battered to be Imperial, that was for sure. Say what one might about the old Empire, they sure knew how to build their starfighters to last. She wondered how intact the engine would be after all this time; if it was still in working order, she could net herself enough portions to last a _week_ , and that was to say nothing of the weapon systems…

So enthralled was she by the potential that awaited her, she almost didn’t see the figure in her path. As it was, by the time she noticed, it was already too late.

Their eyes met, and he exhaled—

Breathed out a prayer, an apology, a wordless exclamation of surprise—

She yelled, kicked out, tried her best to stop the inevitable—

And the speeder cut him down as though he wasn’t there at all—

When she twisted in her seat, he was gone; not a trace of disturbance save the sand in her wake.

~*~

“No, I’m telling you, it’s for real.”

“You can’t have a six-bladed lightsaber.”

“Yes, you can.”

“What, just like, in a circle?”

“Yeah, you throw it.”

“Oh, switch off.”

The mess hall was alight with activity by the time Ben wandered in, dishevelled and dirty from training, bone-weary and desperately hungry. He would’ve passed on food entirely, truth be told, if his absence wouldn’t have been so utterly conspicuous. As it was, he felt Luke’s eyes on him as he dropped into a free chair, rubbing his clammy brow and heaving a sigh. _Let the old Jedi stare,_ he grumbled to himself, _I’ve only been out training. He ought to be proud._

“Solo.”

Ben bristled at the mention of his surname, and glanced up, regarding the offending party with a gaze so cold it could’ve chilled its recipient to the bone… had the recipient not been one of the three most oblivious students in the entire Jedi temple. Progo, Yambo and Queso—a trio of Nautolans of varying hues and dispositions, collectively the most frustrating group of individuals Ben had ever encountered. “Yes?”

“How many blades can a lightsaber have?”

The look Ben gave them then was less cold, more confused. “What?” He wasn’t even sure which of them was speaking. It might’ve been Progo, or Queso. They all blended into one in his mind.

“You know, blades. The glowy bits.” One of the Nautolans demonstrated with a hand gesture that would’ve been performed with a general sense of embarrassment had it been anyone else, but as it was, Yambo—or was it Progo?—was oblivious.

“I don’t— I don’t know. Why are you asking me?” Ben was certain the look on his face was comical in its incredulity.

“Well, we only supposed you might know because you’re the best student in the temple.”

“We thought the _best student_ might know how many blades a lightsaber ought to have.”

“It does strike us, in fact, as the exact sort of thing the best student really _should_ know.”

Ben’s confusion had quickly soured, twisted to annoyance. “Well, I don’t.”

“Hm, he doesn’t know, Progo.”

“It would seem so, Queso.”

“I still say it’s six.”

“Shut up, Yambo.”

With a clatter of bowls, and a tinkling of cutlery, the trio dispersed, arguing amongst themselves, and Ben was left alone once again—a state which had become a recurring theme in his years at the temple. It gnawed at him sometimes, that isolation, but nobody ever seemed particularly keen to interact with the prized pupil, and even less so when he came from a family of such status. As he reached across the table to grab a bowl of whatever meal the catering droids had served up for the students today, he decided he didn’t mind the solitude so much, if the alternative was enduring the nonsense that he had just been subjected to. So, he ate in silence, and he thought about many things, and he very carefully, very pointedly, did not consider the training fields, or the girl he had seen, or the voice in his head. He thought about the texture of the food, the noise of the students around him—Gale yelling as Iris tugged their hair, Cypress scolding them both, and Moonie carefully shuffling her bowl of soup away from the commotion—and he didn’t think about Nevin, or her conspicuous absence.

He didn’t think about a lot of things, which roughly translates to: he thought about all of them, and they ate at his soul, and sunk claws into his heart and made bile rise in his throat, but he washed it away with soup and water and relished a good meal after a hard day’s work. And when he was done, he cleared away his cutlery and passed his bowl to a serving droid, and stalked off to his room for a nap, and tried his very best to pretend he never felt Luke Skywalker’s gaze burning into his retreating back.

~*~

The twin moons of Jakku—neither of which were named, not by any standards Rey knew—were already inching above the horizon by the time she pulled her speeder up alongside the toppled AT-AT, formally dubbed _Hellhound Two_ of the ISD _Interrogator_. It wasn’t anything impressive, just a dilapidated old walker that had given up the ghost and lay like a fallen beast, but it gave her warmth and shelter, and it was the closest thing she had to a home. She had spent a lot of time considering its history: the troops it had carried, the rebels it had slain, and the starfighters it had cut from the sky, but in all her years of picking the metal framework apart, she had yet to find any answers to her myriad of questions. There was a lot about Jakku that remained a mystery to her, and _Hellhound Two_ was just another query for the list, but it gave her space to live and a roof over her head, so found herself unable to complain. It had long since been disarmed, with its blasters and laser cannons dismantled for parts and portions, and the energizers for each repurposed into a crude generator. It was a far-cry from the war machine it had once been, but she had established some sort of defence by means of careful welding and rewiring—electroshock traps rigged by the auxiliary hatch (the only remaining entrance), terrain analysis modules reworked to become motion sensors, and cryptographic locks sealing her most precious possessions away from sticky fingers. No, it wasn’t perfect… but it was safe, and it was home.

She contemplated all this as she tugged her speeder into the empty engine compartment of the walker, lodging it amidst the few crumbling components that were left, and obscuring it from view with a loose curtain of fabric. Sometimes, very rarely, she liked to imagine what it’d be like to live in a proper house—a little hut, with a real door and stone walls, no tripping over wires unless she’d put them there herself. She’d have a bed, and a real kitchen, with a stove not built from repurposed starfighter parts. There’d be shelves to put her stuff, and a wardrobe full of soft clothes, and nothing she touched would leave rust on her fingers or dirt under her nails. It was a ridiculous dream, she knew, but when her family finally came back for her, maybe…

The main compartment of the walker was in darkness when she climbed through the hatch on its underbelly, but a swift kick to the beaten little generator off to the side had the crude, hanging lamps sputtering into life. They buzzed faintly as they cast their glow through the murky workspace, but she paid them no mind as she pulled her quarterstaff from her back and trudged over to the workbench that had been shoved to the side and pressed up against the metal wall. Most of her salvage from the earlier wreckage was still secured to her speeder—there was no point pulling it free when she had to transport it to Niima regardless—but the smaller pieces, the more intricate parts, were tucked into the battered and sand-worn pouch she carried at her hip. Wires, a circuit board, and something that might’ve been a spark plug in some bygone era. Cleaned and repaired, they might be workable, so she balanced them carefully on her ever-growing pile of “junk that might, someday, be useful” and dropped her pouch beside it.

Not for the first time, she was struck by how quiet it was. The creak of cooling metal punctuated the silence around her as the walker settled for the night, but beyond that and the usual sounds of life in this little slice of the galaxy, only her shallow breathing was apparent. She picked her way across the room, stepping around the littered scrap and belongings, reaching out to run her fingers along the metal wall, a shelf, the edge of her crudely-spun hammock. She wondered, distantly, if she’d ever get used to this isolation, and how long she’d have to wait before it stopped hurting quite so much. It only ever became apparent in the quiet hours, when things were still and her hands were empty and she couldn’t bury it all in menial tasks. _One day,_ she thinks, fiercely, _one day things will be different. My family will come back and I’ll have a home—a real one—and I’ll never have to feel this way again. They’ll be here soon._

_I just wish they’d hurry up._

A shuffle, a cough, and a noise of surprise behind her, and she whirled, arm already extended and hand already grasping for her quarterstaff once more. It fit her palm easily, and she settled into a battle stance before her consciousness even caught up with what was happening. When it did, it reeled in shock—a boy? _A thief?!_

“Uh,” was his first statement, immediately followed by an awkward, “hello.”

 _“E chu ta!”_ she spat, brandishing her staff towards him, reacting more on instinct than anything else. This was the first time her home had ever been breached, and she was far more shaken by the realisation than she wished to show. Had her traps failed? Or had she simply not noticed the proximity alert? She glanced quickly towards her workbench—where a small array of lights blinked lazily at her, all soft greens and weak yellows, with none communicating the sort of urgency she would expect had the boy triggered one of her carefully-programmed security measures. How had he managed to bypass _all_ of them? A growl built in her throat, inadvertently; more angered by the existence of some vulnerability she’d overlooked than rendered fearful.

The entire dilemma within her mind had lasted only a second, so as it was, the boy was still standing there, looking thoroughly confused, and a little bit guarded, his jaw working as he processed her crude greeting. After a long moment of contemplation, he seemed to reach an epiphany, and his next words were guttural and ugly—a language not exactly designed for a humanoid physiology: _“Achuta. Ah’chu apenkee?”_ She didn’t respond, her brow knotted, and after a moment, he tried again: _“Dolpee kikyuna.”_

Some tiny, petty part of her was amused to see the thief flounder and work his tongue round the rough syllables of Huttese, but the far larger, far more compassionate part won out in the end. “Speak your native language,” she offered, in a tone that would almost be gentle if she wasn’t still holding him at the business end of a quarterstaff, “I can understand well enough.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, and then thought better of it and closed it once more.

“Teedo got your tongue?” she prompted, and received only a bewildered look in response. She took the awkward silence as an opportunity to study him closer. There was something familiar about him, that she couldn’t put her finger on, and her mind wandered back to sand and speed and a ship, but it was gone before she could fit any of it together. He couldn’t have been that much older than she was, despite the height of him—something that would be imposing on a figure other than the gangly, awkward one that shifted before her. His thin form was wrapped in an off-white tunic, his trousers loose and his boots scuffed, and there was nothing particularly remarkable about him at all, save for the leather-wrapped braid of long, dark hair, twisted on one side of his face… and what an odd face it was. She had seen her fair share of unique individuals in her life, dropping in on Niima Outpost to refuel before high-tailing it off this dusty rock of a planet, but there was something different about this boy. Maybe it was the softness of his skin, untouched by desert sand and unmarred by a laborious existence. Or perhaps, the set of his brow—curious, not concerned—that belied a lifetime of safety and security, never having to glance over his shoulder for fear of attack. His full lips were pursed in something reminiscent of a frown, but he looked less angry, more confused. And his eyes… _Those are eyes that have seen the stars,_ something deep and traitorous in her murmured.

“Is there something on my face?”

The voice startled her out of her reverie, and she screwed her eyes shut briefly, before opening them again to regard the boy with a cold look, bordering on outright hostility. “You don’t belong here.”

His features shifted into an expression of disdain—which she immediately bristled at, despite her painful familiarity with the look—and he cast his gaze around their surroundings. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure where _here_ is.” He toed a pile of scrap metal that lay haphazardly at his feet, but to his bewilderment, it did not shift. Rey wasn’t sure, but in the dim light, it almost seemed as though his foot had passed straight _through_.

“My home,” she stated, almost proudly, “and _you’re_ an intruder.”

His eyebrow twitched at that, almost quirked upwards, and he gave a lazy shrug. The casualness of the gesture did not escape Rey, and she grumbled inwardly at how little of a threat she must appear to this bizarre newcomer. She twisted her palms tighter on her staff even as he spoke: “By no choice of my own, I assure you.”

“We don’t take kindly to trespassers on Jakku. I might string you up and eat you.”

Something in his expression shifted—unreadable—at the mention of the planet’s name, but his next words were laden with brazen defiance: “I’d like to see you try, desert rat.” Then, almost sheepishly: “I _would_ be on my way, only… I don’t know where that might be.”

“Same way by which you arrived, surely?” She nudged the staff forward, closer to his neck, and he eyed it cautiously—good, he was at least smart enough to show a _trace_ of fear.

“I don’t know where that was. Or how. Or…” He ran an exasperated palm down his face.

“Had your eyes closed the entire time, then?”

Those same eyes peeked out from between his fingers as he glared at her. “Not quite.”

“Well, I don’t know and I don’t care where a moof-milker like you came from, but I suggest you leave.” She side-stepped, never lowering the staff, until she was close enough to kick the AT-AT’s auxiliary hatch open, giving a glimpse of the blue-hued desert spread for miles beyond. “But empty your pockets first.”

He hadn’t moved from where he was standing, but his gaze now rested on the freedom that the doorway offered. He didn’t look happy at the unceremonious ejection, though by all accounts he ought to have been thankful she’d spared his sorry excuse for a life. She was softer on the boy than anyone else on Jakku might’ve been. Ejection from the home he’d so rudely invaded was hardly much of a punishment at all, even if it meant she would be sending him out into the cold and blustery desert night. Her previous threat hadn’t been much of an exaggeration, if the crudely-spun stories murmured around Niima were at all true. But he continued to stand there like some sort of oblivious nerf-herder; the only movement he seemed capable of mustering was the silent working of his jaw as he considered his options.

“Well? Are you going or not?” Rey prompted, jerking the staff forward briefly, and tipping her head towards the exit. She did her best not to shiver in the cold desert air that now whistled through the AT-AT’s cramped interior, and barely flinched as it whipped flecks of sand against her legs on its way out. Some part of her acknowledged the oddity that the boy was, barely reacting to the sudden change in temperature, but perhaps he was simply made of sterner stuff. He was certainly better clothed for the cold, that much was true.

“I…” he began, awkwardly, then sighed. A hand slipped into a pocket, and produced—what? The objects resting in his open palm were nothing she’d seen before. A small, gold-flecked pebble, an intricately carved writing implement, and a pile of beaten coins of a currency she had never encountered. “This is all I have.”

“Drop them, then.”

He stared forlornly at the collection, then tipped his palm, letting it all clatter to the floor—only, said clatter never came. In truth, they made no noise at all. She couldn’t even see them where they’d fallen. The boy seemed equally puzzled by this, so Rey made an effort not to let her own confusion show. It gave her the upper-hand, albeit only superficially. After a long, contemplative silence, he spoke again: “Permission to go now, your highness?”

Rey dragged her gaze from the mystery that was the floor, and fixed him with a stare icier than the night-winds of Jakku. Something sparked within her at the lightly mocking tone, the sharp glint in his eye, but she did her best to rise above it. “Don’t let me see you here again. I’m warning you.”

He raised his palms in a universal gesture of surrender, and picked his way across to the exit hatch. “I have no plans to revisit, you can trust me on that.” There was only the briefest of hesitations, then he swung his leg through the doorway and was gone. Rey lowered her staff immediately, breathing out a sigh of relief, and confusion, and… something else, but no sooner had the breath slipped past her lips that he was back—“Oh, you wouldn’t mind telling me where the nearest outpost is, would you?”

Her gaze snapped back to his, and he looked almost comical, poking his head through the doorway like that. Again, a small voice in her somewhere pointed out how unruffled he seemed by the winds—not a dark hair out of place, even when a gust slipped in to tug at her own loose strands—but she ignored it. “East,” she grunted, and then stuck her arm out to point even as he opened his mouth again, with that same questioning look. His odd features formed an expression almost bordering on grateful, but was too haughty to qualify, and disappeared again.

After a long moment of consideration, she stalked over to the still-open hatch, and peeked outside. He was gone, lost to the wind and the sand and, for the briefest of moments, she almost felt guilty for sending him out there in the cold desert night. Evidently, the moment was not brief enough, because she felt herself call out before she had even registered the desire to: “Hey! Come back!”

He couldn’t have gone far, but there was no reply. And with a strange sort of heaviness weighing on her chest, she slammed the metal door shut and sealed herself in.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is actually based very, very loosely on a movie (no, not star wars... but also, yes, star wars) but in the interests of preserving mystery and not cluing you into where this story might be headed, I'll hold off on revealing which movie that is for now. God only knows if this'll pan out the way I'm hoping, but we'll see.
> 
> Anyways, I'd like to give a shout-out to the lovely people who so graciously offered names for me to use in this fic, because I was at a loss. The ones featured in this chapter are as follows:  
> \- Nevin = [@nevrryn](https://twitter.com/nevrryn)  
> \- Gale = [@kilohelen](https://twitter.com/kilohelen)  
> \- Cypress = [@Cypresswinds](https://twitter.com/Cypresswinds)  
> \- Iris = [@kylofucker](https://twitter.com/kylofucker)  
> \- Moonie = [@MoonieBalloonie](https://twitter.com/MoonieBalloonie) (my amazing beta.......)  
> \- Progo = [@proporg](https://twitter.com/proporg)  
> \- Yambo = [@kylussy](https://twitter.com/kylussy)  
> \- Queso = [@queso_en](https://twitter.com/queso_en)  
> If I've missed any on the list, pls forgive me, and do let me know.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, I like to know what I've done well and where I've went wrong... and it helps motivate me to keep writing, so it's in all our best interests, I swear.
> 
> \----
> 
> Some notes:  
> \- “Blobfish” is the name Rey uses for Unkar Plutt in her diary, i.e. _[Rey's Survival Guide](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Rey%27s_Survival_Guide)_.  
>  \- “E chu ta!” is a Huttese expletive, used as an insult or a general curse word.  
> \- “Achuta. Ah’chu apenkee?” is also Huttese, and translates roughly to “Hello. Who are you?”  
> \- “Dolpee kikyuna.” is, again, Huttese and translates to “I am a friend.”  
> \- You can read more about the various lightsaber combat forms named by Ben over on [Wookieepedia](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Lightsaber_combat/Legends).  
> \- Moonie said that the "six-bladed lightsaber" discussion reminded her of a tumblr post, so please appreciate... [the wristfucker](http://moonphanter.tumblr.com/post/143739048132/).  
> \- The manifesting snakes tag comes from the lovely [@philosovee](https://twitter.com/philosovee)!


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